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A Week in the 
Blue Mountains 




LLUSTRATED 



By HENRY W. SHOEMAKER 

Author of "PENNSYLVANIA MOUNTAIN STORIES", Etc. 



(COPYRIGHTED) 



(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED) 







2£ 



To Mrs. H. W. S. 

®It^ K^vttahU (Hompamnn 

of the Outing 

These Pa^es Are Sincerely 
Dedicated 




A WEEK IN THE 
BLUE MOUNTAINS 



The Record of a Happy Outing 
By HENRY W. SHOEMAKER 

Author of 

"Pennsylvania Mountain Stories", Etc. 



^^ Men who undertalce only one districi are much more likely to 
advance natural knowledge than those who grasp at more than they can 
possibly be acquainted with; every kingdom, every province, should have 
its Own Monographer''. —Rev. (rilbert White 



ILLUSTRATED 
From Photographs by Mrs. H. W. Shoemaker 



Published by 

THE ALTOONA TRIBUNE PRESS 

ALTOONA. PENNA. 

1914 



I- /6-f 



©CI.A400718 



JUN 3 1915 
-Ko/ 



INTRODUCTION. 



THIS is a record of an eight-days' drive through 
one of the most picturesque and historic sections 
of Pennsylvania. It is written as a plea to "see 
Pennsylvania first." While the United States and for- 
eign lands abound with interesting and romantic spots, 
right at our very doors, in the Keystone State, we have 
enough that is well worth seeing to keep travellers 
busily engaged for a lifetime. After one has become 
acquainted with his or her native state, then it is time 
to travel into other states or other lands. Travelling 
through inland Pennsylvania is attractive in many 
ways. The roads are, for the most part, splendid at 
least for horses and carriages, and any one wishing to 
admire scenery or study local history and traditions or 
to make check-lists of birds and wild flowers can find 
satisfaction in no other way. The hotels in the region 
visited in this Blue Mountain trip were above the 
average of excellence The beds were good, everything 
clean, the fare was simple but good. The landlords 
were invariably polite, and this feature was put to a 
real test, as in almost every instance our party arrived 
at the inns an hour or two after the regular supper 
hour. AVe cooked our mid-day meals in the woods, 
being provided with a small outfit, which consisted 
principally of a "roaster," a gridiron-like appliance on 
four legs, obtained from D. T. Abercrombie, New 



York, and useful in many ways, a coltee pot, a frying 
])an, some cheap knives and forks, wooden dishes, and 
some George Washington, or instantaneous coffee. 
While we were armed with a permit to camp on the 
state lands, we probably did most of the cooking on 
])rivate property. We used every precaution to extin- 
guish the fires before leaving, and gathered up all 
papers and rubbish, so as to leave the grounds as neat 
as we found them. The prevalence of springs of clear, 
pure water all through these mountains, made camping 
a most delightful experience. The prices at the hotels 
where we stopped for the nights were very reasonable, 
the general charge being four dollars for supper, break- 
fast and lodging for two persons and driver and two 
meals each for pair of horses. We hired our team in 
Reading, Avhere there are several good liveries. In 
order to fully enjoy the Blue Mountain country, a 
driver speaking Pennsylvania German is essential. 
This is a passport to the confidence and good will of 
the people, especially the older ones ; which when 
gained, they are ready and anxious to answer questions 
of all kinds. The Pennsylvania "Dutchman" is shy by 
nature, and inclined to be suspicious of strangers when 
living in remote localities, but a w^ord or two in his 
favorite tongue soon puts him at his ease, and he has 
a heart of gold. It is recommended that for reference 
the following books be taken on a drive into the Blue 
Ridge: D. C. Henning's ''Tales of the Blue Moun- 
tains," Chester A. Reed's "Land Birds of America," 
Mrs. William Starr Dana's "How to Know the Wild 
Flowers," "Getting Acquainted with the Trees," by 

6 



Horace McFarland, and a pocket map of Pennsyl- 
vania. We usually drove thirty miles a day, but on 
some occasions covered forty without any difficulty. 
It is hoped that others will enjoy this particularly 
charming drive. 

Henry W. Shoemaker, 

Fairbrook, Pennsylvania, June 26, 1914. 





UJ 5 



ITINERARY. 

Date. Place. Remarks. 



, . ^ T> ,. T i. -lOK r Stopped at American House; ex- 

Arrived Reading. June 14 1914 ^^^^^^^ ^ ^^^^^^^ .^ ^^^^^ 

Pa 5.55 P.M. ] 

[ way. 

,,„^. T -.r-To^ATv/r (Drove out of town through Mineral 

Left Reading June 15, 7.30 A.M. | springs Park. Stopped at Zoo. 

Arrived Kirbyville, 
Berks County Noon, Quaint old inn: fine scenery. 

. ^ -r^ . . o OA T-, TVT ( A^isited Keystone State Normal 

Arrived Kutztown. 2.30 P.M. | ^^^^^^ Good roads. 

Arrived Crystal 
Cave 6.30 P.M. Crystal Cave Hotel, well kept. 

, ^ T ^^ ., OA * ^r (Dinner at Lynnport, site of Fort 

Left Crystal Cave. June 16, 6.30 A.M. ) Everett 

Arrived Steinsville, f Fine scenery and views of Blue 

Lehigh County.. 6.30P.M. | Mountains. 

r Beautiful drive to Eckville, with 

^„ ^„- . -, views of Pinnacle; magnificent 

Left Steinsville.... June 17, 6.30 A.M. -^ ^^.^^ ^^^^^^ mountain to Wind- 

[ sor Furnace. 

f Fine drive along "mountain road" 
Arrived Strauss- „ „. ^ ^ \ to Shartlesville from Hamburg. 

^^'^^ ^•"^" ^ • • ' Passed near site of Fort Northkill. 



-.o /.OA A TXT I /isited Fort Dietrich Snyder; good 
Left Strausstown.. June 18. 6.30 A.M. ^ road across Blue Mountain. 



( Visit 
I roj 



Arrived Pine Grove, [ Quaint old town; Filbert House 

Schuylkill County 6.30 P.M. | good. 

j" Picturesque road from Suedberg to 

^ .« «^„ * T»,r I Inwood, along mountain. St. 

Left Pine Grove... Junel9, 7.00 A.M. \ j^^^^^.^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^p^.^^^ 

[ well worth a visit. 
9 



ITINERARY— Continued. 



Place. 



Date. 



Remarks. 



Arrived Grantville, 
Lebanon County. 



Hotel keeper at Grantville anxious 
7.30 P.M. ) to please. 



Left Grantville. 



June20, 6.30 A.M. ' 



r West Hanover Presbyterian Grave- 
I yard, and sites of Manada Fort 
and Fort Brown well worth visit- 



^1 ing-, also mountain road to Beel- 
' zebub. Passed through Jones- 
[ town, a fine old-time town. 



Arrived Millersburg-, 
Berks County. ... 



[ Fine scenery, quaint atmosphere, 
; polite attention at Golden Eagle 
6.30 P.M. ] Hotel. Good roads all the way. 
I Fort Henry near at hand. 



C Picturesque drive to Rehrersburg 

^, ^^ , - I and Stouchsburg, across hills; 
June 21, S. 00 A. M J ^ i m i i, i /-.i, i, 

1 roads good. Tulpehocken Church; 



Left Millersburg. 



[^ very interesting. 



Arrived Bernville. 



7 no P M 1 ^^^^ "^^^ Hotel good. A grand, old- 
) style town. 



[ Interesting road to Reading via 
June22,S.30 A.M. ^ Scull's Hill and Half- Way House. 
I Excellent roads. 



Left Bernville. 



Arrived Reading... 



10.45 A.M. 



Stopped at American House. 



10 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 
(The Record of a Happy Outing.) 



IT was late in the afternoon of June fourteenth when 
the train neared Reading. We were reminded of 
the immortal Bayard Taylor's description of his 
approach to that city: "We presently emerged 
upon a slope, whence a glorious landscape opened upon 
my eyes. Never had I seen or imagined anything so 
beautiful. The stately old town lay below, stretched 
at full length on an inclined plane, rising from the 
vSchuylkill to the base of the mountain ; the river, 
winding in abrupt curves, disclosed itself here and 
there through the landscape ; hills of superb undulation 
rose and fell, in interlinking lines, through the middle 
distance, Scull's Hill boldly detaching itself in front, 
and far in the north the Blue Ridge lifted its dim wall 
against the sky. The sinking sun turned the smokes 
of the town and the vapors of the river to golden dust, 
athwart of which gleamed the coloring of the distant 
woods. The noises of the scene were softened and 
mellowed, and above them all, sweet and faint, 
sounded the bugle of a boatman on the canal. It was 
not ignorant admiration on my part, for one familiar 
with the grandest aspects of Nature must still confess 
that few towns on this side of the Atlantic are so nobly 
environed." And these words, written many years 
ago, portray the Reading of today, the nascent Paris 

11 



12 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

of America. When we reached the main or ''outer'' 
station of the Reading Railway, great crowds of happy 
travellers were assembled. We pushed our way 
through the throngs to the cab-stand, presided over by 
the genial Billy Rogers. We were soon in a comforta- 
ble coupe, drawn by a plodding horse and being driven 
along the shady, sunset streets to the American House, 
at the foot of the majestic Penn Square. There we 
found more friendly faces to greet us, the proprietors, 
clerks and bell-boys vieing with one another to make 
us comfortable. After supper, in the cool of the even- 
ing, we rode out to the foot of Mount Penn, and 
boarded the gravity car for a ride through the sweet- 
scented woods. It was so cool and primeval in that 
forest-hidden route that we scarcely realized that al- 
most below us quarrymen were blasting away the ver- 
dant face of the mountain. Posterity will blame our 
heedless generation for this ! On the return-trip the 
car was filled with merry-makers, who laughed and 
joked until it came to a halt at the station. It was a 
gay, care-free scene, one not likely to be forgotten. 
The next morning, not much after seven o'clock, the 
surrey, team and driver that were to convey us to the 
delectable mountains drew up to the door of the hotel. 
I,emon Killian, our guide on many previous trips, was 
driver, and we were glad to see his smiling face once 
more. We started away promptly, through the sunlit, 
bright, clean, streets in the direction of the Kutztown 
Pike. It was dusty from many motor cars, but we 
could enjoy the sight of many snug farms, well-kept 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 13 

and beautifully shaded, along the way. The cherries 
were ripening, and the delicious odor of catalpa blos- 
soms was in the air. We stopped for dinner at the 
quaint old half-way house at Kirbyville. It was a 
stone structure with thick walls and low ceilings, prob- 
bly a century old. Tn front grew a line of huge linden 
trees, making the effect of a bower. After dinner we 
sat on the porch, as a shower arose, which layed the 
dust and sent travellers a-horse or on foot, hurrying to 
join us in our place of shelter. After the rain, the 
birds began singing again. There were many differ- 
ent kinds. Robins predominated, but there were flick- 
ers, orioles, brown thrushes, black birds and song 
sparrows. Then and there we resolved to make a list 
of the rarer birds we would meet with on our drive. 
Far oft on the Penn's Mount range we could hear a 
woodchopper's regular click, click, click. It must have 
been three miles away, but the sounds came to us dis- 
tinctly through the stillness. As we climbed into our 
surrey, a Bob White's melodious call was audible in 
the waving wheat field across the way. The sun was 
shining brightly when we drove into the shady street 
of old Kutztown, home of history and high thinking. 
We stopped before the main building of the Keystone 
State Normal School and inquired of a smiling, fair- 
haired girl if Professor Deatrick was on the premises. 
vShe ran into the building, coming out a moment later 
with the happy intelligence that he would excuse his 
class in five minute? and be with us. It was a short 
five minutes, and then the kindly-faced educator 



14 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

joined lis, taking us for a tour of the buildings of this 
model institution. All was bright and airy, and 
savoring of modern methods. We met Professor 
Grim, who discovered the parasite of the San Jose 
scale, and President Rothermel, one of this country's 
leading younger educators. After inspecting the un- 
finished library, which will be a gem of its kind, we 
were prepared for another treat, a visit to Mr. Henry 
K. Deisher's collection of Indian relics. We found 
Mr. Deisher a charming, polished man, interested in 
many things ; versatility seems to be his watchword, 
as he is a manufacturer, banker, farmer, gardener, 
florist, historian, archaeologist and antiquarian. First 
of all he took us through his ginseng garden, where 
he raises this root which is so precious to the Chinese. 
It grows under a covering of laths, placed a couple of 
inches apart, so as to resemble the forest shade. Mr. 
Deisher also raises Golden Seal, Senega Root, Pink 
Root and other medicinal plants in smaller quantities. 
He is also making a specialty of raising wild flowers 
of species in danger of extinction through the destruc- 
tion of their natural forest covers. But the Indian 
collection is worth a day's visit alone. It comprises 
the arrows, spears and implements of Pennsylvania 
Indians, as well as pottery. The gem of the collection 
is a Pennsylvania Indian pot, the most perfect ex- 
ample in existence as far as known. The collec- 
tion of California Indian baskets, from huge 
ones down to some little bigger than a shoe 
button, is said to be the finest in the world. As many 



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A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 15 

of the tribes which made these baskets are dying out, 
they can never be duplicated in the future. There is 
also a collection of articles belonging to the early 
Pennsylvania Germans, sucii as lanterns, cow-bells, 
spoons, dishes, mirrors, chairs, tables, sausage-makers, 
candle molds, rare prints, and so on. But we had to 
hurry away; we had promised friends that we would 
meet them at Crystal Cave at six-thirty. Through the 
delightful mellowness of the golden hour we were 
driven from the town. We paused once on a hill and 
looked back on the town, lying there so peacefully on 
the ridge, the buildings barely appearing above the 
buttresses of noble trees. Beyond were fertile fields 
and green hills. Surely a most inspiring spot to live 
in or obtain an education ' 

To Crystal Cave the road wound in and out among 
the hills, beneath a continuous canopy of trees. The 
quail were whistling in the meadows, the robins were 
carolling their even-songs, rabbits eyed us curiously 
from the middle of the road before hopping away into 
tall grass. It was a drive of sheer delight ! At last we 
came to a cross-roads where a fingerboard pointed : "To 
Crystal Cave, Yi ^^i-" I'lie road which we followed 
led through a narrow gorge, with steep, wheat-covered 
hills on either side, and a gurgling brook running 
through beds of calomus at the road-side. We caught 
sight of the strange old hotel, the home of ghosts and 
strange, sinister episodes, hidden behind the spreading 
Norw^ay maple trees. Artist Shearer, who was to meet 
us there, came forward, with his great white beard 



16 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

blown by the evening breeze, looking more like Le- 
onardo da Vinci's self-portrait in the Uffizi Gallery 
than ever! Landlord Kohler joined him and we were 
given a genial welcome. The weird old place looked 
unchanged, as we climbed the narrow stairs to our 
room — which had window^s on two sides, and was fur- 
nished in the style of fifty years ago — even to the 
marble-topped table. xA.bout a dozen of us sat down to 
a supper of chicken and waffles, which we enjoyed, 
while the good-natured landlord apologized because 
the fish in the Saconey did not bite that afternoon — 
else it would have been a fish supper, he said. After 
the repast we visited the cave, which alas ! had lost some 
of its mystery since electric lights were installed. Even 
the bats had deserted it, we learned. Perhaps they had 
gone across the hill to the pristine glooms of the 
Dragon's Cave at Dreibilbis ! The stars were out when 
we left the cavern, and we walked in single file, led by 
the landlord with one of his old-time copper lanterns, 
along the avenue of ghost-like junipers. We decided 
to visit the ghost-room in the attic of the hotel before 
going to bed ; it Avould give us an eerie feeling for 
retiring! Still led by Mr. Kohler and his copper lan- 
tern, we climbed to the floor under the roof. The door 
to the little room beneath the eaves was open, just as 
it was when a belated traveller who awoke at midnight 
to find the rival to his wife's affections standing by 
the bedside, and, after giving the fancied being a kick, 
which went through space and through the plastered 
partition, fled precipitously down-stairs. We made 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 17 

a weird appearance, grouped about in the flickering, 
yellow light, in the moldy, stuffy little room. On the 
way down-stairs we took a look at the secret room, 
which is between the newer and older parts of the 
house. There may be a ghost in that room ! Before 
going to bed we sat outside, in the growing gale, while 
the landlord told of the mysterious deaths of two of 
his hired men. One was found standing on his head, 
dead, behind the counter in the restaurant in the cellar, 
while the other, after spending a winter at the county- 
home, twenty-three miles away, became homesick and 
tramped back, one night, dying from exhaustion in the 
haymow, where he had dragged himself for a nap be- 
fore daylight. When we reached our room the gale 
was blowing furiously. We left the windows open 
and could hear it pounding against the ghostly old 
house off and on all night. The giant trees swayed and 
tossed, and some of them creaked and groaned. In the 
morning, which was very clear and comparatively calm, 
we found many crisp maple twigs strewn about the 
road and lawns. We were out at six o'clock and 
cHmbed to the top of a high knoll by the hotel, where 
we obtained a superb view of the Blue Mountains. 
The storm had removed every vestige of humidity and 
the landscape was as distinct and the sky as blue as a 
day in October. The atmosphere was positively cold. 
After breakfast we said au revoir to our good friends 
and started on our way. We left the little gorge, 
where the wind was winnowing the grain, and were 
soon driving along the banks of the sparkling Saconey. 



18 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

At Virginsville, or more properly Vergennesville, the 
Saconey merges its destiny with the Ontelaimee or 
"Sister" brook and flows away as Maiden Creek. We 
followed the Ontelaunee as far as Lenhartsville, and 
it was a most entrancing drive. At first the banks 
were lined with ancient white oaks, and we saw several 
green herons, which flew swiftly into the brush-wood 
at our approacli. Later on. hemlocks grew close to the 
banks, and the road was high above the stream, some- 
times the precipice being nearly a hundred feet. 

On his first drive along the (Jntelaunee, in June, 
1011, the author composed the following: 

OUT ALONG THE ONTELAUNEE. 



In the sunshine sways the woodbine; 
The evening primrose pouting; 
The meadow-lark is singing, 
The red-shouldered blackbird winging, 
Out along the Ontelaunee. 

Shafts of light like golden arrows, 
Shooting through the white oak coverts; 
The Halcyon is skimming, 
A belated grebe is swimming, 
Out along the Ontelaunee. 

Antwerp blue the swelling current, 
Grass-green are the banks that meet it, 
O'er the rocks the water falling, 
Sweeps around a turtle lolling. 
Out along the Ontelaunee. 



A WEEK TN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 19 



There's a sweetness in the breezes, 
Blowing from the blooming clover; 
The laurel on the hill; 
The iris by the rill, 

Out along the Ontelaunee. 

The wild lupine and the blueweed; 
On a path, a bright-eyed rabbit; 
The pileated woodpecker provokes 
Squirrels' chatter in the oaks. 
Out along the Ontelaunee. 

Through the vistas loom the mountains, 
Spitzenberg and lofty Pinnacle, 
Where the graceful buzzard soars. 
And a wind mysterious roars. 
Out along the Ontelaunee. 

In the sunshine sways the woodbine, 
The partridge vine is peeping. 
The wood-robin's bell-like notes. 
The bob-white calling in the oats, 
Out along the Ontelaunee. 

Stream of rare and radiant beauty, 
Man's rude hands have marred it not; 
Where the soul expands and blesses 
Scenes where God His plan expresses, 
Out along the Ontelaunee. 

From Lenhartsville we drove towards Lynn- 
port, where we stopped for dinner. This Httle 
village is of some renown as having been the 
site of Fort Everett, built for defense against 
the Indians in 1.756. We made the acquaintance of a 



20 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

very cultivated gentleman, Dr. D. A. Fulweiler, who 
owns the site of the fort. He escorted us to the spot, 
which was in the centre of a wheat field, and on the 
outskirts of the village. He explained that he did not 
know that the structure had been the fort until in 1885, 
when his workmen, in tearing it down, called his at- 
tention to the musketry loop-holes. Shortly after- 
wards, Edward Everett, the distinguished Massachu- 
setts statesman, visited the village to see the fort 
which had been erected by one of his ancestors, and 
was much disappointed when he learned that it was no 
longer standing. Dr. Fulweiler told of the days when 
he was a boy, when wild pigeons were so plentiful. 
They flew northward in April to nest, but if they en- 
countered heavy snow-storms they would turn back. 
On one occasion the ground at Lynnport was covered 
with snow, and the town boys amused themselves 
throwing snow balls at the pigeons as they flew in vast 
companies over the hilltops. From the site of the old 
fort we continued our way to New Tripoli, which once 
boasted of a famous carriage works, but in these auto- 
mobiling, tangoing days has been succeeded by a 
hosiery mill. The old Lutheran churchyard, where lie 
many Wanamakers. Kistlers, Mossers, Trexlers, and 
scions of other old families, is well worth a visit. From 
thence we turned westward, towards the Blue Moun- 
tains, passing many fine highland farms. We stopped to 
inquire the way at the quaint old inn at Jacksonville, 
and paused for a few minutes at the abandoned town 
called Slateville, once of high repute for its slate 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 21 

quarries. The day had passed happily and quickly ; it 
was in the golden hour again when we drew up before 
the old-fashioned inn at Steinsville. Genial landlord 
Berk w^as on hand to greet us and we were escorted 
into comfortable quarters. Back of the inn is a big 
yard, where sales of live stock were formerly held, 
but which now served as a run-way for the landlord's 
cows and chickens. The old barn possessed that cozy 
appearance so notable in George Moreland's pictures. 
After supper we gazed at the golden light banking 
itself behind the Blue Mountains, being thankful to be 
in such a beautiful spot, and with the power to appre- 
ciate it to some extent. Down the village street we 
heard quite a commotion, and learned that a travelling 
show was giving a modified wild west performance. 
We met the showman, his wife and three little chil- 
dren, spending a half hour very pleasantly with them 
in their tent. Then we walked down the street to the 
creamery and made our first purchase for our ''gipsy- 
ing," a pound of delicious butter. At this creamery we 
were told that most of the output goes to a prominent 
dealer in Philadelphia. Then we returned to the show- 
man's tent and waited for the performance to begin. 
The roping and wild west antics were excellent, well 
worth the paltry sum charged for admission. The next 
morning dawned bright and clear; we were on the 
road early. The country towards Alleminga, which 
signified "All Wants," or everything provided, but 
foolishly changed to Albany, was rolling, with hay- 
cutting in progress, girls and women working in the 



22 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 



fields. Back of everything, from every bill, above 
every ravine, loomed the giant outlines of the Pinnacle, 
the highest peak of the Blue Ridge in Pennsylvania. 
It closely resembles Tahawns or Mt. Marcy in the Adi- 
rondacks. Around its summit, which seemed to have 
kinship to the blue dome, graceful buzzards, or "Berks 
County Eagles," as they are called, were soaring. We 
purchased our camping outlit at Bailey's general store, 
in Alleminga and resumed our way towards Eckville. 
In this upper point of Berks County occurs the famous 
^'amphitheatre' where the mountains form an almost 
complete circle, reminding one of the Cirque de 
Gavarnie in the Pyrenees. We followed the course 
of Pine Creek almost to its sources. It is a wild and 
beautiful stream ; happily much of the old pine timber 
is still standing, although not nearly as much as in the 
days when ^Artist Shearer painted his masterpieces 
along its rocky banks. At Eckville, or, freely trans- 
lated, Point-ville, we turned to the left, towards the 
majestic Pinnacle, whose slopes we would cross. We 
paused at a ruined stone house, the last building be- 
fore reaching the mountain, as it possessed considera- 
ble interest to us. In the old days it had been the 
home of Noah Hallman, called by his friends **Ark," 
a veteran of the Mexican War of 184:. The old fel- 
low had learned the art of rope-throwing in Texas or 
Mexico, and kept himself in training in a unique way. 
Up on the headwaters of the Lehigh River he cap- 
tured four young Pennsylvania lions, or panthers 
These he brought to his Berks County home and 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 23 

tamed. He would let them loose and send his dogs 
after them. When the hounds brought them to bay he 
would lasso the ''painters" and drag them home. The 
sagacious brutes soon became used to the trick and 
enjoyed the chase as much as did dogs or huntsman. 
At the barn nearest the Hallman ruins, eight wood- 
chuck hides \vere nailed to the side of the barn, pitiful 
examples of the ''game" which now attracts the 
attention of full-grown, supposedly red-blooded 
Pennsylvania hunters. Before long we were in 
the depths of the grand forest which covers 
much of the sides of the Pinnacle. Here it 
was that we heard the mournful note of the 
dove, or "rainbird," a-coo, coo, coo, the first on this 
drive. The road was rough, but we did not mind, as 
the glory of the laurel, coming into full bloom, on 
every side, was enough to send any one into ecstacy. 
We stopped at an old turkey blind where some hunter 
had doubtless waited for the birds to pass ; climbing 
up into it, we felt something of the thrill which every 
sportsman experiences as he enters the haunts of the 
game. Of course we stopped at the Panther Spring, 
near where, in August, 1874, two coal burners, Thomas 
Anson and Jacob Pfleger, had killed a mammoth 
Pennsylvania lion. The animal was first ob- 
served in Indiantown Gap, near Jonestown, and 
a party of thirty hunters went in pursuit. 
It eluded them, however, only to be brought 
to earth by the two intrepid nimrods of the Pinnacle. 
The road up the mountain was very steep ; the timber 



24 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

was nearly all gone at the top, little else was growing 
except sweet fern and ripening huckleberries. To the 
north and west grand views opened out, of mountains, 
forests, remote valleys, and tiny, secluded farms. Once 
a rufifed grouse ran before our horses, and we heard 
the shrill, doleful cry of several blue jays. It was 
warm out there in the sun, but we plodded away until 
we plunged into the forest again, where the road turns 
down towards Windsor Furnace. We were thirsty 
and hot, consequently hailed with delight the roar of 
a mountain stream, Windsor Brook, which presently 
greeted our ears. We drove into the site of an aban- 
doned hunter's camp and made preparations for our 
mid-day meal. We refreshed ourselves at the torrent, 
the water of which was so cold that it chilled our 
fingers. It flows like a jet from the very heart of the 
Pinnacle. It was near this stream that an Indian who 
kidnaped a white girl in the early days of Berks Coun- 
ty, and held her prisoner on the mountain until she 
died of grief, Avas captured by her avenging lover and 
buried alive in its bed, so that only the top of his head 
appeared. Today one can see the skull, with the broad 
brow and the shock of coarse, black hair, in the bed 
of the torrent, the cold water having seemingly kept 
this hideous ''memento" intact. We enjoyed our ''pic- 
nic'* immensely. The crackling fire looked well with 
its forest background ; everything was cooked to a 
nicety. After lingering and dreaming for an hour or 
two after the repast, listening to the brook, the birds, 
the happy hum of our own conscience, we reluctantly 




SPECIMEN OF PENNSYLVANIA INDIAN POTTERY 
(In Collection of H, K. Deisher, Kutztown. Pa.) 



A WEEK IN THE BLUB MOUNTAINS. 25 

started down the mountain. We passed the ruins of 
the old furnace, once one of the leading industries of 
the northern end of the county, but enjoying most the 
waterfall from a rhododendron glen just above it. 
We drove by the new reservoir which is supplying 
Hamburg with the icy cold W^indsor Brook water, and 
came out on the public road near an old stone church. 
Out in the open country we could admire the Blue 
Mountains in all their gradeur, their air of vastness, 
their sweeps of immense distance deeply impressing 
us. From the highway we obtained an excellent view 
of the new State Tuberculosis Sanitarium. Surely it 
is an inspired spot for the location of a fort to fight the 
''great white plague." Before long we were in the 
neat town of Hamburg, ''fairest village on the plain." 
We have always loved this simple, thriving, happy 
metropolis of Northern Berks, and never did it look 
neater, or livelier, than in the clear light of this June 
afternoon. We called and paid our respects to Editor 
W. O. Heinly, who publishes the "Item," a bright, 
newsy sheet, and he presented us with a photograph of 
the Blue Rocks, a great natural wonder located about 
four miles east of the town, at the foot of the moun- 
tain, where there is a field of some hundreds of acres 
of huge broken stones, beneath which can be 
heard the rumble of a subterranean stream. 
Above "the rocks," near the mountain's comb, 
is Point I.ookout, and a short distance to the 
west lies a large Indian burial ground. Points of 
interest are not lacking in the environs of "happy, 



26 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

prosperous*' Hamburg. Before leaving the town 
we took a look at the new posto.Hice building, where 
our good friend Abel H. Byers holds forth to the emi- 
nent satisfaction of Uncle Sam, who is soon to make 
it a second-class office. Then we crossed the Schuyl- 
kill, on the old covered bridge, pausing for a moment 
to admire the curious wooden weather vanes on the old 
bridge-tender's house. Two vanes, painted to resemble 
acrobats, a boy and a girl, swing Indian clubs, w^hile a 
third, resembling a sailor man, leaning jealously near 
the girlish figure, is turning a wheel. These figures 
have inspired at least one story. We followed the 
mountain road towards Shartlesville. At Seyfert's 
Mill, with the date 1840 on it, there is a signboard 
pointing towards the mountain which says : "To 
Schuylkill Haven, 11 mi." There is an air of wild- 
ness, of bleakness, about the mountain road, and the 
swift-flowing Northkill, and the old stone mill, that 
have alwavs thrilled us. We should love to follow 
that road some windy afternoon in autumn, when 
the jays were calling, the gum trees' leaves were 
red and the sky gray and threatening. The 
approach to Shartlesville is very beautiful. The 
town is bowered in trees, and is grouped like some 
old French fortress town, about a hill, on the top 
of which rises the ancient church, with its square brick 
tower. We have seen this tower on a night when the 
new horned-moon was behind it, shining through the 
mulleoned belfry, and we thought of those words of 
Thomas Grav, *'Within von ivv mantled tower, the 




OLD SIGNBOARD AT FORT DIETRICH SNYDER 




OLD SIGNBOARD AT FORT DIETRICH SNYDER 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 27 



mournful owl doth to the moon complain." This even- 
ing, in the soft light of the golden hour, it was equally 
and rapturously beautiful. Evening was settling fast 
as we turned into the road below the sadly remodeled 
church at Strausstown, which leads to the site of Fort 
Northkill, of Indian war fame — and Degler's. The 
old church has been cruelly marred and seems to be 
trying to hide its face behind the hue grove of pines, 
hemlocks and oaks which grow along the ridge on 
which it stands. The Degler home is one of the very 
remarkable old houses of Berks County. Below the 
gable is an iron plate on which is painted "1755-1886." 
This means that the original log cabin, built in 1755, 
was enlarged and weatherboarded at the latter date. 
In the attic is the celebrated chest, broken open by 
Indians in 1757. Just as the savages were stooping 
down to remove the treasure they were shot dead by 
members of the Degler family. The chest is unpaint- 
ed, and made of cedar wood, and, considering its age, 
is in an excellent state of preservation. On the broken 
lid are carved two hearts, with the initials "G. F. D." 
in the centre, the date '*1757" below. On the left of 
this are two lishes, crossed, on the right two Indian 
clubs, crossed. The chest is held together by wooden 
nails. It has a curious old iron lock. After inspecting 
this strange relic which is now owned by John \V. 
Henne, who married a relative of the Degler family, 
we strolled across the cornfield to the spring where 
Nicholas Long's home had been located, and where 
some Indian atrocities occurred. On the wav, one of 



28 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

Mr. Ilenne's relatives, a boy named John F. Noacker, 
picked up a Howitzer ball and several arrow points. 
These, he said, were frequently found in all parts of 
the farm. x\fter drinking from the "bloody spring," 
we retraced our steps to the Degler home, and were 
presented to Mrs. Sarah Noacker, 73 years old, a 
daughter of the late John W. Degler, former owner 
of the property, and who had been born in the historic 
old house. The old lady said that she had heard many 
Indian stories from her parents and the old people of 
the neighborhood when she was a young girl. The 
sun was now gone behind the Blue Mountain, but an 
afterglow of cerise and crimson bespread the evening 
sky. The sombre heights where once the carnage and 
tragedy of the redmen held sway were bathed in the 
dark shadows of peaceful night. It was with many 
thoughts of the past that we were driven towards the 
ancient village of Strausstown. It was after supper- 
time when we drove up in front of the hotel, but the 
landlord, Harry Paul, smilingly declared that we could 
not arrive too late to be served. Mr. Paul, who is 
descended from one of the old French Huguenot fam- 
ilies of Berks County, has all tlie suavity and courtesy 
of his race. He made our sojourn most enjoyable, 
and at the last minute before our departure handed 
us a newly-arrived Philadelphia newspaper, so that 
we could read how the Britishers had won the final 
game in the International Polo Match. It was a bright, 
clear morning when we departed for Schubert, which 
lies at the foot of the Blue Mountain. On the way 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 29 

we passed through a magnificent grove of original 
white oaks, the finest grove we had seen in Berks 
County, and doubtless one of the finest in the State. 
We rested and watered our horses at the Seven Stars 
Hotel before beginning tlie steep climb to the site of 
Fort Dietrich Snyder. It was a steep tug for the 
animals, but for us it was delightful, as we got out and 
walked up the road, which was well shaded and the 
woods filled with the biggest and fullest blown clusters 
of laurel that we had yet seen. The rattle and splash 
of a mountain stream enlivened the morning stillness. 
When we gained the mountain top the horses struck 
a trot, and we were soon in sight of the old hotel, once 
kept by Harry Nein, which stands a hundred feet 
south of the site of the fort. (3ur zest at re-visiting 
this historic spot was somewhat dulled when we were 
informed in Strausstown that old Mrs. Nein, the land- 
lord's widow, who for years had lived alone in the old 
tavern, had been removed to the county home. Two 
vears before we had met her and she not only showed 
us the exact location of the fort, but the spring where 
Dolly Hope, the wife of Captain Snyder, had washed 
her clothes. The Widow Nein's mother had been 
Dolly Snyder's servant, and she had been present 
when, in 1810, the old fort was torn down to be re- 
placed by the present hotel structure. Across the road 
is the sign-board which reads : "Blue Mountain Hotel, 
1784." There is probably no older hotel stand in Berks 
County. Jt was used as an inn from 1781 to about 
1904, a period of one hundred and twenty years. I"^nti^ 



30 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

1<S!(), the old fort was used as the hotel, hnt became 
too small to accommodate the heavy travel which 
streamed across the mountain to and from Pottsville. 
Dolly Snyder, the commandant's widow, lived to be 
1 15 years of age, and when she died Mrs. Nein averred 
she was buried in the g-raveyard of Christ Lutheran 
Church at Stouchsburg, near the tomb of her lifelong 
friend, the celebrated Regina Hartman. Dolly Snyder, 
it would appear, was an Englishwoman of quality, 
very beautiful and cultured, but how she became the 
wife of a hardy frontiersman, or came to live at this 
remote spot, remains one of the riddles of history. 
Now the old hotel stands deserted and melancholy, 
the abode of ghosts and memories of other days. \Miat 
scenes this mountain top has witnessed — Indian for- 
ays, ambuscades, hunting escapades, the long lines of 
pioneers and packers bound for the regions beyond 
the mountains, love, hate, drunkenness, storm, sun- 
shine, and, lastly, shadow. We walked about the de- 
serted structure, and were seized with a desire to enter. 
Within was that musty odor so characteristic of all 
empty houses ; it is the odor of bones, where the spirit 
is no more. We visited the tiny sample-room, where we 
could picture even Indians, as well as stalwart hunters, 
pioneers, teamsters, mysterious strangers and the like 
leaning on the bar. We went upstairs into the little 
rooms where all kinds of travellers with all kinds ot 
stories had slept. Oh, to have been able to have known 
their thoughts ! We looked out of the attic window, 
where the cool breeze was swaying the leaves of the 




OLD SIGNBOARD AT JONESTOWN 



A WEEK IN THE BT.UE MOUNTAINS. 31 

old horse chestnut trees. An oriole or "golden robin" 
had its nest so near that we could have reached it if 
we cared to, a beautifully woven hanging nest. We 
came down stairs and out into the sweet sunshine, so 
different from the mustiness and gloom of that ghostly 
house. Before we left we plucked a red rose from an 
ancient bush, no doulit planted by the rare Dolly Sny- 
der herself. It was almost as if we had stepped into 
the past, or seen ghosts, we felt so oppressed as we 
drove down the steep road towards Snyder Valley, in 
Schuylkill County. Crossing the road was a large land 
turtle, which we captured, carving our initials and the 
date 1914 on the bottom of the shell. This creature, 
dull of wits and slow of motion, possessed the poten- 
tiality for a long life, and would be found and our 
identity wondered at long after we were no more. 
Snyder Valley is wild and beautiful. It was subdued 
for settlement by Dietrich Snyder after many fierce 
encounters with the redskins, and has ever since borne 
the name of its pacifier. We came to a cool spot, by a 
small creek, and there another dinner was prepared. 
As a sample of our menus, let it be said that we had 
fried beefsteak, fried potatoes with onions, beans, 
toast, coffee, oranges, cake and cheese. What could 
be better than that as a mid-day repast for mountain 
climbers? We rested and meditated after the meal, 
watching several buzzards soaring far above us. Evi- 
dently they had scented a feast on the offals of our 
picnic. We continued our way to Friedensburg, 
where we made inquiry as to the location of the Falls 



32 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

of the Swatara, which rose near there. No one knew. 
We had seen a picture and read a description of the 
falls in a 'Tictorial History of Pennsylvania" by Eli 
Bowen, published in 1852, so surely they must exist 
somewdiere. We drove to Panther V^alley, where the 
stream heads in the Second Mountain, meeting an in- 
telligent woman, Mrs. .Vnnie Reiland, who resided near 
Cressona. She said that she had never heard of the 
Falls, but would ask her father-in-law, Albanus Rei- 
land, ninety years old, who had lived in the valley 
nearly all his life, if he knew of this natural beauty 
spot. The old gentleman, who is the oldest active 
Sunday School teacher in Pennsylvania, said that he 
was aware of no Falls, except that tlie stream tumbled 
over the rocks as it emerged from the mountain, a 
mile to the north. We drove in that direction, passing 
the home of Mrs. Kate Reiland, known as the greatest 
waffle-baker in Pennsylvania, and who has entertained 
celebrities from Wilkes-Barre, Scranton, New York, 
Philadelphia and Pittsburg with her renowned chicken 
and waffle suppers. But we found no Falls, though we 
traced the Swatara, which, by the way, is spelled in 
this valley "Swetara,"' almost to its source. We would 
have gone to the very beginning only the thickets were 
so dense. Somewhat disappointed, we turned our 
horses' heads towards Pine Grove, the grand old tan- 
nery town. We drove down the "mountain road," in 
preference to the "valley road," as it was wilder. As 
the afternoon progressed we heard the "Bob White" 
of many quails, the sharp cheep of snipe, the mournful 




DINNER TIME 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 33 



crv 



of the killdeer. Again it was past supper time 
when we readied our destination. But the landlord 
of the Filbert House, where we stopped, courteously 
received us, and we were soon provided for in that re- 
spect. The old town, with its commodious homes and 
magnificent shade trees, never looked lovelier. We 
strolled down the street in the cool of the evening, to 
pay our respects to Messrs. Anderson and Reber, who 
pu1)lish that interesting newspaper, the 'Tine Grove 
Herald." We found the two gentlemen in their office, 
also our old friend, the former proprietor of the paper, 
Mr. Gilbert. It was a delightful evening, spent in con- 
genial company, and the hour was late when we started 
Ijack to our hotel. Early the next morning we were on 
our way, bound for Sued1)erg. The road led along the 
side of the Blue Mountain, with the Swatara, stained 
black with the dust from the coal mines, flowing below 
us. We noticed many wild flowers in the rich dark 
woods. The laurel was everywhere, but not quite in 
full bloom. There were many huge rhododendron trees 
covered with buds. These would bloom in the last days 
of Tune. We saw much rattlesnake-weed, sweet pepper 
bush, evening primrose, harebell, wild roses, yarrow, 
Solomon's seal, pink fireweed, as well as the large ma- 
genta-hued blossoms of the dish-berry. A ruflfed grouse 
ran in front of the horses, seeming loath to dart into 
the bushes ; also several rabbits, which twitched their 
delicate noses as we passed. Towards noon we came 
into the majestic Swatara Gap. Here the mountains 
seem sky-high and the creek widens into the propor- 



34 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

tions of a river. Most authorities state that the name 
Swatara is of Indian origin, but the old Scotch-Irish 
famihes Hving near its confluence with the Susque- 
hanna at Middletown declare that it is named for a 
stream in the North of Ireland, in Derry, called the 
Swatragh. In Pennsylvania this name has been 
changed to Swatara, Swetara, Sewataro, and other 
variations. At Inwood we crossed the stream and re- 
turned through the Gap in the direction of Tomstown. 
Noticing a small cross-roads store advertising ice 
cream, we purchased some, which we took with us for 
our dinner. The road now led into wild mountains, 
where primitive looking log cabins were the only sign 
of habitation. In the wildest part of one of the 
ravines we met a slim, blonde girl of perhaps nine or 
ten years of age, a modern prototype of Regina Hart- 
man, herding a number of cows. She carried a small 
lunch basket and probably remained in those moun- 
tains, rain or shine, from dawn to dark every day. 
We gave her an orange, and she directed us the short- 
est way to St. Joseph's Well. The "well" proper gushes 
out of the rocks, being curiously walled up, beneath the 
shade of four giant white pines. The water flows 
through a spring house, and into Indiantown Run. We 
pitched our camp for lunch on the spot, as we after- 
wards learned, where the old hermit, Joseph Raber, was 
murdered by drowning in December, 1878. Several 
rough characters residing in the mountains insured his 
life in their favor for a large amount, and then pushed 
him from a log on which he was crossing the creek, 




OUR DRIVER ON SITE OF FORT DIETRICH SNYDER 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 35 



holding him under the water until he was dead. For 
this dastardly crime five men were hanged. In recent 
years Pottsville residents have established a hunting 
lodge near the well, but in some way incurred the 
hatred of the mountaineers to such an extent that 
three successive cottages have been burned down by 
vmknown incendiaries. It was a quaint spot, under 
the grand old forest trees, and we enjoyed it despite 
the depressing associations. After dinner we drove 
further into the mountains, in Fishing Creek Valley, 
in the direction of Cold Spring. On one of the high 
points where we could see Indiantown Gap and Ma- 
nada Gap, and where the dwarfed jack pines rattled 
in the storm wind, we came upon a tiny cabin built of 
logs and mud. Nearby was a log barn, with a straw 
or thatched roof. Kneeling in the garden, pulling 
weeds, was the old recluse of the Second Mountain, 
Joseph Ney. The aged man greeted us genially, and 
we complimented him upon the excellent manner in 
which he carried his eighty-four years. He told us 
that he lived alone, save for his faithful dog Wasser, 
which snapped and snarled as we drew near the slab 
fence surrounding the garden. He said that there 
were still a number of wildcats in the surrounding 
mountains, but they did no harm, also foxes, raccoons, 
skimks, possums, hawks and wild turkeys. Twenty- 
five years ago, when he had first moved to his eyrie, 
black bears came into his fields. As we drove on we 
wondered what was the life story of this hermit, what 
romance or blighted wish drove him into this forest 



36 A WEFJK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 



cloister. 'I'he pull up the mountain was a severe one, 
but the view from the summit a sylvan panorama in 
all directions, justified the effort. At length we 
reached the famed Cold Spring in Stoney Creek Val- 
ley. The old hotel, a popular resort a quarter of a 
century ago, was burned to the ground and a Y. M. C. 
A. Camp has risen in its stead. The spring bubbles 
out of a bed of yellow sand, and is now covered by a 
spring house of tasteful design. Above the spring 
stand three original white pine trees, monarchs of the 
forest, trees which surely saw the Indians. There is 
the stump of a fourth pine, but it was probably broken 
down in some storm. All aljout are fine oaks and 
chestnuts, making an ideal picnic or camping ground. 
We had passed many picnic groves on our trip, but 
none of them had water handy, which to us seemed 
very strange. No wonder that the park at Cold Spring 
enjoys such widespread popularity, for never was bet- 
ter water tasted by mankind. About a mile away is a 
fine lake, caused by damming up a creek, and several 
row-boats were moored on it. Under the stormy sky 
it was like some Adirondack pond; snipe were skim- 
ming over its surface. The sky was very dark, but the 
storm held off until we were back in the Valley of 
Fishing Creek. Then came thunder and lightning, the 
heavens literally opened and we were drenched before 
we could adjust the side curtains. The storm ap- 
proached oddly enough. Once the rain was coming 
down on the far side of a field which adjoined the 
road, while on the road where we were it was perfectly 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 37 

dry. The shower, severe though it was, was over be- 
fore we reached Manada Gap. Streaks of clear, sil- 
very sky appeared ; there were traces of the sunset be- 
hind the uneven ridges of the Second Mountain. We 
drove through the Gap, which reminded us much of 
the beautiful Delaware Gap near Thompsontown, in 
Juniata County, and thence to Grantville, where we put 
up for the night at a comfortable inn. The next morn- 
ing was clear and cool, ideal weather for an early start. 
Professor E. E. Lerch, the local school teacher, kindly 
consented to accompany us to the old Presbyterian 
burying-ground at West Hanover, and to the site of 
Fort Brown. In the cemetery are many ancient tomb- 
stones, including those of the celebrated Col. William 
Allen, son of the founder of AUentown, and himself a 
leader in the French and Indian War, who died in 
October 16, 1794, aged 51 years. Nearby is the 
modest tombstone erected to the memory of John 
Craig and wife, who were killed by Indians in a lane 
not far away on October 22, 1756. Souvenir hunters 
have seriously damaged this stone. There is also a 
monument erected to John Hampton, who died in 1900, 
at the age of 100 years. Until a few months before 
his death he walked twice every week to Harrisburg 
and back, to market, carrying two heavy baskets. His 
mind was unimpaired to the last, and in 1894 he was a 
valued aid to Mr. H. M. M. Richards, of Read- 
ing, in locating Manada Fort for the Penn- 
sylvania State Historical Commission. We saw 
monuments belonging to the McCreight, McCormick, 



38 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

Snodgrass, Gilbert, Lamberton, Boyer and other fam- 
ilies well-known today in and about Harrisburg. 
Outside the stone wall of God's acre are the 
modest graves of the slaves. The old Presbyterian 
Church was torn down by ruthless innovators a num- 
ber of years ago. While we were in the graveyard, a 
night-hawk or bull bat flew up from a marble slab and 
winged his way in a dazed sort of way to a branch in 
an acacia tree. The first settlers had droll names for 
the beasts and birds ; the night hawk, a dusk flyer and 
heavy of wing, was called the bull bat, while the huge 
water wader, the great blue heron, was given the name 
of gander snipe. The short tailed bay lynx was called 
the bob-cat ! From West Hanover graveyard we 
drove to the ruins of Fort Brown. This building stood 
on the Ramler property, and was torn down about 
twenty-five years ago. The Historical Commission, 
which did so much to rescue the sites from oblivion, 
was appointed ten years too late to save most of the 
structures themselves. Mr. Ramler owns a tract of 
several hundred acres of virgin oak timber along the 
slope of the Blue Mountain and we followed the moun- 
tain road, so as to see it, passing through the little 
village of Beelzebub, where Joe Moonshine keeps 
store. In this village we met a man named Rhoads, 
who showed us a huge Indian war hammer which he 
had lately unearthed on his farm. From Beelzebub 
we drove through Lemberger's, and then in the direc- 
tion of Indiantown Gap. The thought of this Gap 
evoked many memories, among them the legend of a 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 39 

lynx, or '^catamount," that we once heard, which sprang 
in front of a runaway horse, stopping it and saving the 
driver's Hfe. Later, when the lynx was killed by some 
bounty hunters, the man whose life it had saved 
bought the carcass, had it stuffed and set it up in a 
glass case on his porch. At the entrance to the Gap 
we stopped to talk with old Joe Schmeader, a basket 
maker, who sat under a big ash tree weaving his wares 
from strips of Welsh willow. We bought two baskets, 
as souvenirs of a trade which is fast passing away. 
Gone are most of the old generation of basket-makers, 
carpet weavers, umbrella menders, watch repairers, 
tinkers and peddlers, who travelled from farm to 
farm. The papers only a few days ago, recorded the 
passing, at the age of 76, of Charles Zimmerman, who 
for fifty years drew a little hand wagon through the 
remoter sections of Berks County, fixing watches, 
clocks and doing otlier useful tasks. Wliile we were 
discussing the old days with the picturesque basket- 
maker, Gipsy Bill, a noted horse trader, his wife and 
son, came along. They said that times had changed, 
that horse-trading wasn't what it used to be. Horses 
were scarcer and their owners were less willing to 
part with them. Further on in the Gap, which is wild 
and romantic, we stopped to meet the hoary patriarch, 
John Trout, who has lived in the Gap seventy of his 
eighty-two years. He said that wolves were fairly 
numerous when he moved there in 1844, and 
that a panther had been killed in the Gap as 
late as 1830. Catamounts were gone, but wild- 



40 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 



cats were still to be found, and bear tracks 
had been observed the previous winter. A bear 
had been actually killed in 1913 on the Second 
Mountain, the first in that region in many years. We 
cooked our mid-day meal in a cool, sequestered spot, 
near a spring, the 'Apiece de resistance" being boiled 
new potatoes, and then set out for Jonestown. We 
reached that interesting old community in the mid- 
afternoon. We met the local fire engine on the bridge 
which crosses the Swatara ; it was not going to a fire, 
but was being used to advertise an ice cream festival. 
At Heilman's hotel, in the big square, we watered our 
thirsty horses. The old town had changed little since 
we were last there, several years ago. The Golden 
Stag and the White Horse, the two oldest taverns, had 
been slightly remodeled, a new brick store building 
faced the open square, or market place, that was all. 
At the Heilman House we met a Mr. D. C. Ney, who 
proved to be a nephew of the old hermit of the Second 
Mountain, Joseph Ney. He said that his uncle had 
never been a hunter, but another uncle, Thomas Ney, 
had been famed as a nimrod in the Blue Mountains. 
This old man, who died ten years ago in his 86th year, 
had killed wolves in the Blue Mountains in his youth, 
also bears and deer. He had taken part in the unsuc- 
cessful panther chase of 1874, and in company with 
Bill Swoyer, another mighty hunter, had entered bear 
dens in Bear Rock, near Cold Spring, slaying the 
beasts in their lairs. He told about Leonard Faler, an- 
other hunter, who boasted that he never killed a bear 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 41 



outside of its den. Once his son John shot a bear on 
the slope of the Third Mountain, and when the old man 
found it out he said that he felt ashamed of the boy 
for his lack of courage, ordering him never to do it 
again. The wolves, it seemed, liad a well-defined path 
along the Second Mountain as far as the Susquehanna, 
where it branched off towards the wilder regions of 
Clark's Creek Valley. Mr. Ney believed that Dr. 
Kalbfus, of the State Game Commission, should liber- 
ate deer on the Blue Mountain between Swatara Gap 
and the Pinnacle, providing them with a five-year 
closed season until they felt at home. This sentiment 
had also been expressed by landlord Berk at Steins - 
ville, who said that the deer could have a magnificent 
range, and would be in that section now had they 
not been driven out by hunters with dogs before the 
game laws put a stop to this unsportsmanlike method 
of hunting. Mr. Berk stated that he had not seen 
deer tracks on the Pinnacle in twenty-five years. From 
Jonestown we drove in the calm afternoon sunlight to 
the queer, old-fashioned town of Fredericksburg, 
which also has a square, or market place. Then we 
followed the mountain road to the Half -Way House, 
where we branched off towards Millersburg, through 
quaint Grindstone Valley. On the road to the Half- 
Way House we obtained a fine view of the valleys, 
with Meckville lying in the foreground. A stage, 
bound for Pine Grove, passed us. In the back seat 
sat a pretty bride, decked out with a veil and white 
dress, while the groom wore, as the country papers say, 



42 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

"a conventional black suit." We obtained a wonder- 
ful view of the Round Top, a high mountain, which in 
some places is unscalable, as we neared old Millers- 
l)urg. The sun was sinking low as we drove into the 
open square of the ancient town, continuing our way 
until we reached the Golden Eagle Hotel, kept by 
our old-time friend, Charles F. Kerr. On a wire op- 
posite was perched a snow-white robin, caroling gaily. 
We were so engrossed by it that we forgot to get out 
of the carriage until the landlord and his son Louis, 
a youth of artistic talents, greeted us familiarly. The 
old place seemed just the same, even to the giant 
Ailanthus trees which shaded roofs and porches. They 
were in full bloom now, exuding an odor not unlike 
that of the chestnut blossom. The old-fashioned gar- 
den at the house next door was as charming as of yore ; 
there was much of an air of serenity and peace. 
-\fter supper we strolled down the road to an old 
Lutheran Church on the hill. In the quiet, grass- 
grown cemetery we gazed upon the bold, black outline 
of the distant Round Top, standing clear-cut and dis- 
tinct against the steel gray evening sky. On either 
side of it stretched the seemingly limitless, endless 
ridges of the Kittochtinny range. It was in the 
cemetery that we experienced that sense of exaltation 
that brings us nearer to the Infinite. Such ex- 
periences are rare in this life ! We strolled back 
to the hotel, going by a farmhouse covered with honey- 
suckle vines which exuded the sweetest of perfumes. 
Many country boys were out driving their buggies, 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 43 

for it was on a Saturday niglit. Some had their sweet- 
hearts with them, others were on their way to meet 
them. Over the back of the seat of every buggy hung 
a lap-robe ornamented with a gaily-colored floral de- 
sign. On the hotel porch we met an old mountaineer 
named John Kline, who told us many legends of the 
long ago. One of them was of a lead mine, located 
somewhere in the Blue Mountains, perhaps near 
the Pine Garden. Indians trading with the white 
people sold much of this lead, but steadfastly 
refused to reveal the whereabouts of the mine. 
They were on especially friendly terms with 
one old man, w^ho begged them so hard to show him 
the mine that they consented. But they blindfolded 
him before leading him to the spot. When it was 
reached, after a long climb, the hoodwink was re- 
moved and the sight which met his gaze was unfor- 
gettable. There seemed to be enough ore in sight to 
supply the nation. He tried to mark the locality in 
some way before his eyes were covered again. But he 
was never able to find the mine though he searched the 
mountains for years. Another story was of an old 
settler, who, fearing an attack by Indians, hid a pot 
of gold on the mountain. The old man died before he 
could go after his treasure, but he gave the instructions 
to his son-in-law. This fellow could not locate it, nor 
could many others who went in search of it. One 
man eventually discovered it, but swore an awful 
oath as he reached down to pick it up. The pot 
of gold disappeared before his eyes. No one has yet 



44 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

regained it. The next morning we saw the white 
robin attacked by three normal colored robins and 
Inirled about in the air until it screamed with pain. 
Louis told us that the bird had a mate of the ordinary 
hue, and several young ones. His nest was in a horse- 
chestnut tree which had red blossoms — a rarity, as 
most trees of this kind have white blooms, though 
some are pink. Accompaniel by young Mr. Kerr, we 
drove out to call on old George Potts, a Civil \\'ar 
veteran and noted as a hunter of wildcats. He lived 
alone on a lane a short distance beyond the site of 
Fort Henry, another important point in the bloody 
days of 1755.60. Old Mr. Potts, who is quite spry 
despite his seventy-three years, described to us how 
he had killed several large wildcats near his home. 
He said that these animals were still fairly numerous, 
but hard to catch, that foxes were still quite plentiful. 
When he was a boy, sixty-five years ago, wolves were 
numerous in the Blue Mountain above his home ; 
there were still a few when he returned from the war 
in 1864. A few years after the close of the war, 
Dan Long, who lived at the foot of the mountain back 
of Livengood's Mill, had killed a brown wolf He had 
seen the pelt, which was sold for ten dollars, and the 
scalp, on which five dollars was paid. It appeared 
that Long, who was a youn.g man at the time, owned 
an unsexed female clog, \vhich used to run off with the 
lone wolf and hunt with him for several days on the 
mountain. The wolf would wait for the dog in the 
evenings on a point of rocks in the glen, and one night 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 45 

Long slipped out and killed the monster. The dog 
was disconsolate for days. Oh, the sordid, terrible 
tragedies of animal as well as human Hfe ! On our 
way to Rehrersburg we passed the mill where the 
last wolf of the Blue Mountains was slain, and felt 
a strong desire to seek out the rocky gorge where he 
met his end ! We had dinner at Rehrersburg, at the 
Union House, where the landlord, Mr. G. R. Snyder, 
and his wife, were very solicitous of our comfort. 
Then we started across the hills for Stouchsburg, in 
hopes of finding some trace of the grave of Regina 
Hartman, "the l^lue Mountain Captive." Everv 
Pennsylvanian knows the story of Regina, how she, 
at the age of nine, was stolen by Indians from her 
parents' home in Orwigsburg, in October, 1755, was 
kept a captive for nine years and was restored to her 
mother, out of a long line of released Indian prisoners 
at Carlisle^ when the good woman, at the suggestion 
of Col. Boquct, sang a song which she had heard in 
childhood. Mrdern research has shown that the girl 
to whom these adventures actually occurred was 
named Regina Leininger, and that she was captured 
on the Karoondinha, in what is now Snyder County. 
But residents of Berks, Schuylkill and Lebanon Coun- 
ties will always believe that there was a Regina Hart- 
nnan, of Orwigsburg, who was captured by Indians, 
was loved by one of them named Kaniserega, whom 
she refused to marry after her captivity was ended 
because her mother hated every member of the race 
which slew the others of the family. Later on a white 



46 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

man, Anders Boon, of Exeter, loved her, but she 
spurned him because she still loved the Indian. She 
gave him a lock of her blonde hair in a thoughtless mo- 
ment, and this Kaniserega found in a locket around the 
white lover's neck when he butchered him at the 
massacre of Fort Freeland, on the West Branch of 
tlie Susquehanna in July, 1TT9. Our Regina, whom 
the Indians called '*Rag-hena," never married, was 
noted for her saintliness and her charities, and when 
she died her body was conveyed to the graveyard of 
the church where she worshiped, being interred with 
simple honors. No stone marks it, even the exact 
location is unknown. The only key we had was what 
old Mrs. Nein had told us, ''Regina lies beside her 
old friend Dolly Snyder." On the road to the old 
Tulpehocken Church we caught many fleeting 
glimpses of the Blue Mountains, so soon to be veiled 
from us. Birds of all kinds were in song, robins, 
brown thrushes, kingbirds, larks and pee-wees. Above 
sailed the solemn and funereal turkey buzzards. 
Many wild flowers and wild strawberries grew 
by the roadsides, very sweet smelling; among the 
flowers w^ere the evening primrose, the gay- 
colored butterfly-weed, butter and eggs, St. John's 
wort, elder blossoms, and milk-wxed blooms 
Milkweed shoots, closely resembling asparagus, are 
stewed and eaten with relish by the Penn- 
sylvania mountaineers in the early spring. We saw 
numerous butterflies which flitted gracefully about We 
passed through many groves of stately rock oaks and 



A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 47 

white oaks, where there were considerable numbers of 
gray and red squirrels. Every "stone-row" had its quota 
of chipmunks. In due course of time we came in 
sight of the old stone church which we recognized 
from the illustration of it in Reverend Weiser's story 
of Regina. The forest which surrounded it in the 
holy days of tlie Reverend John Nicholas Kurtz was 
no more, but a goodly grove stands in the foreground. 
We stopped with feelings of true reverence before 
this severe, solemn edifice, where worshiped the bold 
pioneers of generations long since gone. Christ 
Evangelical Lutheran Churcli — for that is its full ap- 
pellation — was first erected in ITIo. The first edifice 
was replaced by the present structure in 1786. This 
was partly destroyed by a premature explosion of 
dynamite in a quarry across the Harrisburg Pike in 
1885, necessitating the construction of a new roof 
and a new interior. The foundations of the edifice 
of 1TJ:3 are to be seen in the road which divides the 
present church from the old graveyard. Reverend 
Kurtz, who confirmed Regina Hartman, was pastor 
of the church from 17-i8 to 1770. Accompanied by 
the sexton, Mr, James Meredith, we visited the in- 
terior of the church, which is plain but dignified. A 
fine painting of Christ praying in the wilderness, 
adorns the wall back of the plain walnut pulpit. We 
then visited the two graveyards ; the newest one is in 
the churchyard, the oldest one across the driveway. 
The sexton showed us where he thought Regina was 
probably buried, but that was all. It was left for us 



48 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 



to conjecture. As tliere are no very old people living 
about the church who were born in the neighborhood, 
local tradition could not be drawn in. Perhaps Mrs. 
Harry Nein, in the county home, holds the key to the 
mystery. If Dolly Snyder's grave is found, then Re- 
gnia's will be known and properly honored. She de- 
serves a monument, yea, a simple marker, just as 
much as Mary Jemison, "the White Woman of the 
Genessee," a girl who was captured by Indians, suc- 
cessively married two of them, Sheninjee and Hio- 
katoo, and lived the life of a squaw, does that imposing 
pile of marble and bronze in Letchworth Park, in 
New York State. Once a simple country school mas- 
ter planned to put up a slab in memory of the *'Blue 
Mountain Captive" in the cemetery wall, but he went 
away, and the project was forgotten. Before re- 
suming our way through Stouchsburg to Bernville, 
the "Nordkill" of history, we were driven to 
the site of the home of Kate Edwards, who 
killed her husband and languished in Reading- 
Jail for thirteen years, only being liberated this 
year. The house is gone, the well where the vic- 
tim's body was thrown is almost filled up, a field of 
swaying rye hides and smiles over it all. Only the 
stone quarry where the colored paramour worked 
remains The world is "wax to receive, marble to 
retain," as Lord Byron used to say. On the way to 
Bernville we passed a newly-cut hay field, which was 
dotted with killdeers and flickers. The killdeers flew 
up at our approach, "peeping" mournfully These 



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night-crying birds are said to contain the souls of dead 
Indians, and are locally known as Killorees. We 
stopped at the sign of the *Ved K" at old Bernville, 
formerly the Eagle Hotel. Now it is kept by Harry 
Redcay, a former acrobat, hence the name. Mr. 
Redcay is a kindly man and made us feel at home. 
In the evening we strolled along the quiet street, meet- 
ing Mr. F. H. Wagner, the local Justice of the Peace 
and a noted veteran of the Civil War, with whom we 
conversed pleasantly for some time. The rain was 
falling softly when we departed the following morn- 
ing, but we could see how the country looked under 
such conditions. We drove along the slope of Scull's 
Hill, mentioned by Bayard Taylor, which forms the 
central eminence of the Berks landscape, stopped 
for a moment at the quaint old Bern Church, 
where above the graveyard gate are these words : 
"Remember That We All Are Mortal.'' At 
the Half-Way House, built in 18+3, we turned 
to the right in the direction of Reading, which 
was seven miles away, our "week in the Blue 
Mountains" almost a thing of the past. All the way 
into town we met many birds flying about "after the 
rain,'' for the clouds were now lifting. We had kept 
a record of the number we had seen, also wild animals, 
and it totalled as follows : Buzzards, 26 ; Red-Headed 
Woodpeckers, 28 ; Flickers, 27 : Green Herons, 3 ; 
Ruffed Grouse, 2; Quails, 29; Blue Birds, 5; Red- 
Winged Blackbirds, 10; Mourning Doves, 8; Night 
Hawks, 5 ; Goldfinches, 9 ; Baltimore Orioles, 14 ; 



50 A WEEK IN THE BLUE MOUNTAINS. 

Cowbird, 1 ; Spotted Sandpipers, 6 ; Killdeers, 
15; Brown 7'hriislies, 18; Upland Plovers, 10; 
Red- Shouldered ITawks, 2 ; Sparrow Hawks, 3 ; 
Rabbits, 9 ; Red Squirrels, 20 ; Gray Squirrels, 5 ; 
Water Snake, 1 ; Turtles, 5. These, all told, would 
barely make a "bag" for the modern, rapacious pot- 
hunter. We made no record of the commoner species 
of birds, like robins, meadow larks, blackbirds, spar- 
rows and so on, or of chipmunks. But now the smokes 
and stacks of Reading rise before us, and we hear the 
distant roar of the town. We pass the Country Club, 
the new Bright residence, the Driscoll estate, the Mag- 
dalen Home in rapid succession, and, almost before we 
know it, are crossing the Schuylkill Avenue Bridge. 
Through a maze of paved streets, amid motors, 
trucks, buggies and noises we thread our way ; once 
more we are in front of the American House. 
Friendly faces greet us there, to hear all about our 
trip ; it is all over but the memories, which are in- 
destructable. And many a day, or year, if we live, will 
that week in the wistful, splendid Blue Mountains rise 
before us, setting a standard of peaceful, sane enjoy- 
ment that brought us well nigh to the portal of true 
happiness, the abode of the angels. We have been 
raised to a higher spiritual plane, which, please God, 
we may always keep. Let us hold our ambitions and 
dreams on a level with the highest point of the grand 
old mountains which we love, where our ancestors lived 
and died, and we will find content in this earthly sphere. 

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